Got to see that everywhere I turn will
Point to the fact that time is eternal ...
A detached, clinical voice on the unexpected phone call.
... Mr. Car ... yearly cysto ... appointment ...
I only heard about a third of what the caller said, but there was no mistaking the message and the implications. February 19 at 2:20 p.m. is my next date with mortality. I wonder if the administrators that make those calls out to the survivors truly understand what emotions they can inflict on others. When they hang up the phone, they check a name off a list. Those of us on the receiving end are abruptly awakened from our year-long reverie of survival. Suddenly we are thrown back into behavior patterns of worry, of consternation, of anxiety, of what if and when. In times like these there are too many nights where the red glow on the nightstand is all that we have to keep us company. 3 a.m. eternal.
